


Purple Prose

by Nununununu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: “I honestly don’t understand,” Aziraphale moaned in anguish as he turned the sign on the shop door to ‘closed’ at the end of another day of sales he absolutely did not want to make, “I took pains to ensure I didn’t even stock this ‘book’.”





	Purple Prose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoe324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe324/gifts).

> For Zoe324, inspired by and loosely based on your prompts: "character doesn't understand why they suddenly have a following" (rather than cult) and "coming to the wrong conclusion."
> 
> I've only read the novel, so please ignore any TV inconsistencies (also my first time writing a treat fic!).

“I honestly don’t understand,” Aziraphale moaned in anguish as he turned the sign on the shop door to ‘closed’ at the end of another day of sales he absolutely _did not_ want to make, “I took pains to ensure I didn’t even _stock_ this ‘book’.”

Crowley could all but hear the inverted commas. Propping his feet next to the cash register, he leaned back on his chair until it was threatening to fall over and glanced at the angel over the top of his sunglasses.

“I think it’s quite good actually,” Licking his finger, he made a point of turning the next page. Oh look, the main character had discovered a reason[1] to take his shirt off!

The intensity of the current craze for the latest _Twilight_ slash _Fifty Shades of Grey_ slash _Fault In Our Stars_ replacement was proving highly amusing to witness – especially Aziraphale’s reaction to the hordes of teenagers who had begun descending on his shop each morning, some of them even _not leaving_ until the close of day despite the angel’s increasingly desperate attempts to evict them – but Crowley wasn’t convinced that the novel[2] was the reason for it. It had no doubt been the initial cause, but –

Well, an increasing number of the kids had started returning to the shop multiple times. Bringing their copies of the book with them and their phones and their takeaway coffees –

Crowley had been obliged to scold them severely (with just a little demonic aura peeking out, in order to get the damn kids to _listen_) before Aziraphale had an actual heart attack at the last.

For all the angel should be in control of his human form, he’d been so besides himself he seemed to have forgotten that fact. And Crowley was, well, _used_ to Aziraphale’s body. It would have been a waste for the angel to have to replace it.

Realising he was eyeing said body over his sunglasses, Crowley smoothly returned his attention to the book. Hmm, now there were some highly florid descriptions of the main character – gorgeous fair hair; all that pale skin –

“You can’t honestly think it’s _good_?” Aziraphale sounded scandalised. His disbelieving gaze descended from Crowley’s face to the cover of the book. The angel twitched.

“Do you want me to read you my favourite part?” Crowley showed a glimpse of forked tongue as he grinned, “You might recognise it – several of our new friends were discussing it today.”

The teenagers had, in fact, discussed the unnecessarily dramatic initial Big Damn Kiss between the main character and his mortal enemy turned love interest on and off repeatedly throughout the afternoon. At great length.

“I suppose all that kissing in the rain and – needlessly bare skin is probably very fascinating if you’re fifteen, but please do refrain from reading any of it out loud,” Pulling off his glasses, Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose, “I still don’t understand why hundreds of copies of the thing would appear in my shop when it has apparently sold out everywhere else. I similarly don’t understand why _none_ of the bookshops I’ve asked to take the copies have agreed.”

“No?” Folding the corner of the page to keep his place[3], Crowley raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “You don’t think our young friend had anything to do with it?”

“Are you quite certain _you_ didn’t have anything to do with it, my dear?” Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair. He looked _tired_, as if he didn’t even have the energy to miracle himself back into full wakefulness.

“Not in the slightest,” Crowley said quite honestly[4]. Flicking ahead to where the sex first happened – ooh, on a bed of rose petals! How _unique_ – he said entirely casually and without looking at Aziraphale, “Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Thank you for the offer, my dear,” A hand closed briefly over his wrist before Crowley could protest that he was simply _enquiring_ and not _offering_ in the least. “I think something stronger would do the trick. Will you stop reading that – that thing now?”

“You couldn’t _tempt_ me into stopping if you tried,” Crowley smirked, which rather spoiled the nonchalance of his reply. Because he knew –

He knew _exactly_ how the angel would respond.

“I shall take that as a challenge, my dear,” Aziraphale sure enough plucked the book out of Crowley’s fingers, not quite able to bring himself to drop it for all his expression said he was inclined to toss it in the bin, instead setting it aside with great distaste.

“Oh, but it was just getting to a particularly good part,” Crowley made a show of complaining, subtly scooping the book back up even as he allowed Aziraphale to prise him out of the chair and then lead him to the back rooms, and the bottle of very nice wine Crowley had already summoned onto the table there, in front of a sofa that had miraculously appeared.

Sinking down amongst the plush cushions, Crowley thought of the main character in the novel, the one who just happened to look _oh so very_ like a certain angelic companion of his.

“You _do_ realise that the kids aren’t coming here just to buy the book?” He finally gave in to the impulse to ask. He had caught the teenagers taking selfies while Aziraphale _just happened_ to be in the background or discussing in low tones whether they might get away with asking for a photo[5], and sneaking glances at Crowley himself.

After all, Crowley did terribly resemble the ‘mortal enemy’ character. He had been getting quite a lot of enjoyment out their teen audience’s reactions whenever he took the opportunity to lean in close to talk to Aziraphale or placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder.

“What other reason would there be aside from the lack of copies elsewhere?” Aziraphale seemed oblivious, of course. Arranging himself on the sofa next to Crowley, he sniffed, “They certainly have yet to demonstrate interest in any actual works of literature.” He paused, no doubt thinking of the consequences this could lead to, such as more sales. “Maybe that’s for the best. Although educating today’s youth is a worthy pursuit…”

His brow wrinkled at the quandary.

“Why don't we close the shop tomorrow,” Crowley suggested, once he had the wine open and was pouring some into a glass he then handed to Aziraphale, “If we keep the door locked, close the blinds and remove all copies of the book from sight, perhaps the kids might go away.”

“They were queueing up yesterday from nine, although I didn’t open until ten,” Aziraphale said mournfully, in the tone of one who had suffered the temptation to miracle said kids away and then gave up and let them in, and checked they hadn’t taken a chill, “I don’t even know how word got around about this shop.”

“That would be social media,” Crowley propped his copy of the book on his right knee so he could drink his own glass of wine more easily.

“That looks –” Aziraphale started as his hand landed on Crowley’s left thigh, just above his other knee.

“Huh?” Crowley managed or some equally eloquent version thereof, his distraction regrettably slowing him enough that he failed to prevent the angel when Aziraphale reached across their bodies with his free hand to pick up the book.

The angel squinted at the back cover as if he’d never seen it before, which Crowley supposed was possible given Aziraphale endeavoured to hold it as far away from his body as possible whenever a sale obliged him to handle it.

He started, realising Aziraphale was now eyeing him.

“No, it can’t be,” Lips twitching with a sort of scandalised amusement, Aziraphale then shook his head.

“What?” Crowley wasn’t transfixed by the angel’s expression in the slightest, “What is it?”

“It simply occurred to me these ‘characters’ look rather familiar,” Aziraphale was eyeing the book dubiously, but also with a hint of possibly growing curiosity, “The dark haired one looks like you in particular.”

“Really?” Given that the fair haired main character would be the spitting image of Aziraphale if the angel were to take off most of his clothes[6], Crowley raised an eyebrow at the angel again, “And how would you know what I look like without my shirt on?”

Aziraphale blinked. He sipped at his wine, glanced down at the back cover of the book, sipped more wine and then glanced up at Crowley again.

“I have no idea,” he said eventually, and smiled just a little, “Perhaps you should remove it so I can compare how you look with the illustration then, my dear.”

Leg jerking under the angel’s hand, Crowley all but choked, “Angel, you –”

“The dark haired character does seem to spend the majority of the time shirtless,” Aziraphale was now flicking through the book, hol- Jes- _something_. That little smile was growing deeper on his lips, “Whereas, for some reason, it seems the character who I now see bears an uncanny resemblance to me spends most of it naked.”

“Ah –” Focused on the warm hand as it gripped his thigh more firmly, Crowley realised a split second too late what Aziraphale had just said. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” he got out feebly.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gave him an affectionately admonishing look of the kind only the angel could achieve[7], “Why didn’t you just tell me you were responsible for this?”

“Because I’m not?” Crowley tried, coughing to clear his throat afterwards and not in the slightest because it came out uncharacteristically close to resembling a squeak. He gave in, as he’d known he would all along, “And because I knew you’d look at me like that.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, focused as they were on the section where the characters sheltered from an inexplicable rainstorm that happened in a novel otherwise filled with good weather, and professed their affection in very melodramatic terms. “I suppose there is perhaps a very _small_ amount of charm to this section, at least.”

“Oh yesss?” Crowley’s tongue flicked against his teeth, “Wait until you get to the part where they spend an hour making out on the sofa.”

While this was secretly his favourite part, he certainly hadn’t intended to tell Aziraphale about it.

“An hour?” Setting the book aside on the sofa, Aziraphale lifted his hand to brush instead at Crowley’s hair, fingers catching gently on the dark strands.

“Angel –” Crowley _ached_ to touch him in return. He twisted his hands, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass, extremely aware that the angel seemed to be leaning towards him.

“Shall we find out if we can do better than that?” Aziraphale asked lightly, almost gently, and Crowley’s body was turning him, angling him similarly, before his stunned brain managed to have any say in it.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s warm hand touched his cheek, and Crowley gasped.

“Yes!” His hand moved quite without his permission as well, setting his glass down on the table and reaching out to Aziraphale eagerly.

Aziraphale shifted one of his knees onto the sofa and then there wasn’t any talking again, not for a long time, other than the occasional ‘my dear’ and ‘angel’ and ‘_yes_’.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale was panting lightly when they parted, skin almost glowing, everything about him looking happy and near radiant, “I am starting to suspect I may have judged the book unfairly. To help me atone, will you describe some more of it to me?”

Flushed and rumpled on the sofa beneath the angel, Crowley pushed his hips up just enough to rub against Aziraphale until they both groaned.

He grinned crookedly, “Why don’t I demonstrate it?”

“Perhaps you should,” Aziraphale guided one of Crowley's ankles up to hook around the angel's waist, making them both shiver.

“Perhaps I should,” Crowley agreed.

Neither of them noticed when the book landed on the floor some undefined time later.

\---

[1] There was no reason at all for it.

[2] Profound literature; Crowley had commissioned it himself. As in, he had tempted the internet fanfic writer into changing the names of the characters and publishing it as an original work.

[3] And suavely ignoring Aziraphale’s resultant death glare

[4] That is, ‘quite honestly’ to a certain extent. He didn’t have anything to do with the contents of the teenagers’ conversation, after all, even if he did have something to do with a fair amount of the rest of it. He would swear blind to anyone that asked that the appearance of the otherwise out of stock books was all on Adam, though, who Crowley was certain was greatly amused by all of it.

[5] Proving wise enough so far to predict that the answer would be no, but Crowley was betting it was simply a matter of time

[6] Or, much of the time in the novel, all of them.

[7] This was disconcertingly much like being scolded by someone’s grandmother.


End file.
